You, The Darkness
It wasn’t in a single, defining moment; it wasn’t on a ghostly morning or an eerie evening; there isn’t a date or a time to isolate the precise instant I found myself standing in the midst of infinite darkness with only as much as a dull spotlight shining weakly out in front of me. Me. Us. We.
It seems pitch black all around me. My eyes sometimes struggle to penetrate the darkness, no matter which way I turn. It is as though I am lingering in an absolute shutdown of light, but for a diffused glow around me.
It weighs heavily on my shoulders; it feels as though the darkness broods and rotates around us all. As I listen to loud and demoralizing threats, the sheer depth of our seclusion and isolation takes me to levels of fear I had never known before.
As much as I try to run away from it all, I am relentlessly slammed into indistinguishable barriers by those unholy voices and the piercing laughter the darkness presses upon me.
The gateway to hell isn’t supposed to be a place. It’s supposed to be somewhere in an alternate reality each of us lives in; our minds. Yet, here we are. South Africa. Here, where fires continue to ravage lands, buildings, roads, highways, cars and people fuelled by greed and the addictive lust for power. I can’t turn my back on it; none of us can; so here we are, in the gateway of hell.
You, the darkness of South Africa, waging this battle against us, are trapped in fear of us as you build walls of indifference and seeking status to hide your vulnerable self – striking out at us with every ounce of aggression you and your people can muster up.
You speak lies as if you are convinced it will turn into the truth; desperate to remove years of culture and history. I hear you speak and imagine writing another book, before I burn it to cinders because either it burns, or we do; I choose us.
Through the fear of your people and like venomous broth for the masses, you began a process many years ago to condition the children of your kind to hate an entire nation of the human race; us.
Families burying their children and grand-children are left with hatred; their own kind of abhorrence. Laying them down with their own hands while lowering their tiny bodies with their eyes closed into the soil of the lands you are fighting, and killing us for. Through tiny, heartbreaking tears that escape the corners of their eyes, they kiss their babies one last time before dirt covers them to signify the end. They will never come back. They will never have one more last chance to do it all over again. These children will never get to say goodbye and they will never, ever place their arms around those they’ve left behind. At that very moment, love leaves the bodies of those still here, forever. That’s where they cease to function. That’s where their worlds have come crashing down on them. That’s where the tears end and bitterness and revulsion is born.
Hatred becomes a repugnance, a rebellion of all that was once good. Never would you see such hatred in our kind, except where love is betrayed, destroyed and murdered.
But the hatred of you and your people disguises itself as a balm to a wound when in truth, it is fuel for already-burning flames. It guarantees more hostility, more pain and more death while decreasing your humanity, not ours; any civilization that you and your tribe may still have left.
It passes from you, to your people and their children – from one generation to the next and it waits in the shadows of racism, hatred, senses of superiority and reverberation of tribalism making your kind more primal than human.
I must ask; if all our homes are abandoned; some by those desperate to keep their lives, or some by those buried in the soils of these lands, will our history books talk of how you commanded the enemy and how you failed your nation; all of your nation? Will it tell the stories of the homes of ordinary people living ordinary lives, serving under one God and how dearly they paid simply because of their love and loyalty to their homelands?
When all the schools are attacked and destroyed, would you try to reason with your people lacking intellect since there is nowhere to teach them?
As the last of the coffins are moved down the streets carried by mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, sons or daughters, will you still hold us culpable of being apartheid supporters, for no other reason than for the fact that we are white?
When our country; the country that has stood for centuries lies in ruins at your feet, will you consider that your day of reckoning has just escalated to a whole new and treacherous intensity?
Do you hear the piercing screams as your people tear through us like razor sharp shards of glass; desperate, terrified, heartbroken and hopeless?
I must ask; when you hear of a child viciously murdered, do your eyes widen or does your pulse quicken only a little? Do you consider the day their hearts pounded to a pulse that was no longer to the rhythm of their souls and how every turbulent beat from within echoed the breaths they were gasping to take?
I must ask; how many white crosses must there be and how many more names must be printed on them? How many more bodies must be lowered into the ground before your hatred of us; your desire for money, greed and power begins to subside? How can you be so unresponsive to brutality, cruelty and savagery?
I must ask; do you know that your reckoning will ultimately defeat you and your people?
We know that your deception, dishonesty and corruption is used as ammunition against us, making us and keeping us as opposites.
We know that you and your people have been infected with the deadly poisons of greed, power, vanity and self-interest. We are aware that you have contaminated our nation and that you cannot love God, and therefore, you cannot love our country.
Do you know that no matter how powerful or severe; how brutal or cruel or how influential you are, we still choose God. We choose love. We choose compassion, kindness and empathy. We choose life and we choose our lands, our people and our culture. We choose God over power, and, we choose us.
We are not afraid of death. We know where we are heading. It’s only another chapter in our story; one where we get onto the next path and keep walking with no stains or tainted souls; with not even a memory of you.
When its all over; when there is nothing left and when your line has been drawn, what will you face when you meet death and walk down that foggy path leading you to darkness? Will it engulf and overwhelm you, suffocating you from all sides? Do you know that there will be no moonlight to cast light on the road ahead for you? There is no safe passage for you; there is no coming back from your mortal sins. Will you grow tired and rest on the damp ground below you, with the tears of those you have failed gushing from your eyes? What will you see when the furnace door opens for you before you are sucked into the flames, to burn for all of your eternity? Will you hear the cries of the mothers, the fathers’ desperate to negotiate the lives of his family or the child screaming in the darkness for mercy? Will you see the faces of those that have been tortured under your immoral reign and will you live the fear they had to face, only moments away from death? Will you live through the anguish of each soul lost because of you, and your people?
I know that you will.